


xviii; Season of the Witch

by Theo_Thaur



Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [18]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Canon Compliant, Drug Abuse, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Phobias, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Whumptober 2020, although technically kind of a gray area between phobia and PTSD, phobias as written by someone that has phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur
Summary: Whumptober 2020 submission. No 18. "PANIC! AT THE DISCO": Panic Attacks, Phobias, Paranoia.-----Another Halloween away from the academy. Another series of reminders that the dead still torment him, even if Klaus can't see them.
Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951234
Kudos: 3
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	xviii; Season of the Witch

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGERS: explicit drug references, contemplated overdose/suicide, self-harm via risky sexual behavior (tagged as non-con), implied rape/sexual abuse, PTSD, phobias, description of panic attacks, misuse of drugs, homelessness.

_xviii; Season of the Witch_

October was always difficult, for many reasons. When Klaus wasn't able to meet rent and didn't have anywhere to crash, it meant an increased pressure to find somewhere warm before winter truly sunk in. Some years, it meant accepting that there might not be anywhere, and saving money to thrift a coat or purchase whiskey --either would give him the feeling of warmth he craved, in absence of home. Then there was the elephant in the room, the association of October with Halloween. 

Halloween was a complicated time. On better years, it meant getting to dress really sexy and looking for parties to go to. In early November, it meant cheaper candy, which was far from enough to support a healthy diet but sometimes convenient for the munchies. But Halloween also meant being exposed to images of ghosts, big and small. If he was around a television, it meant seeing advertisements for new horror movies set to release on the thirty-first. It meant Halloween specials and glowing red LED eyes, graveyard imagery and sheets with holes cut into them, cheap speakers that wailed like ghosts and the 'Thriller' video. Not all of it was bad, Klaus would venture to say that the holiday was perfectly fine, but he never slept well leading up to Halloween. The unease began in early October. The sights and smells of autumn tempted Klaus towards a dark place, since those sensory things were so heavily associated with past Halloweens, and by extent, ghosts. 

The pretty fallen leaves crackled like thin, weak bones. After rain, the piles on the sides of roads were mushy. The earthy decomposition of plant matter caused him to think of peeling skin, made worse by the way the leaves might squeak or compact under his shoe, like bloated tissue. People began to set out pumpkins on their doorsteps, or paste crescent moons and broomsticks to their windows. It was only a matter of time until white tulle ghosts started to appear, hanging by doors and off the spindled branches of bare trees. For some houses, the representation of ghosts were little more than caricatures, resembling tennis birdies more than dead people. The association to real ghouls, while it made Klaus uncomfortable, was something he could stomach. 

But other houses were considerably harder to pass by, sporting tall mannequins modeled like ghouls, which loomed out on front lawns for all to see. Klaus never had the best memory, but passing into residential areas even briefly during October, seeing even one ghostly figure stare out at him --it was nearly impossible to forget the sight of. His brain replayed it constantly, like a bad dream or a deeply embarrassing memory. Klaus' mind clung to it for reasons he could not decipher, the memories gathering in some shady space, never truly leaving him alone. It was impossible to understand how he might hear the fake wailing of a ghost, and remember the very real ghosts from his childhood. It was treacherous that harmless things could lead him down a dangerous path, one that never had started a long time ago and would never stop, playing endlessly with only short pauses. 

The amalgamation of concepts and noises and encounters and images reached years and years back, like a twisted scrapbook. He remembered a ghost story Diego had told when they were kids, on the way back from a late night mission. When Klaus closed his eyes, he could see how the streetlights had passed him in a blur, how the city seemed to have adopted more shadows than he remembered. Klaus had checked the lock on his car door, and then Diego's, before staring down at the outline of his shoes, fearing a hand might reach out from underneath his seat and drag him into the depths of the dead. Coming back from late missions, he had usually just felt tired and indifferent, but everything about him had been cautious that night. Past some point, Klaus had stopped listening to the fake anecdote, his own eyes conjuring much more frightening and staggering pictures in his head. That was just one piece of many, far from the catalyst, but perfectly preserved in his memory regardless.

Somehow, being anxious just made Klaus feel a false belief of relative safety. Being uptight, surveying the streets, it took a toll on him, but far worse was relaxing. Hypothetically, relaxing meant he wouldn't be safe. Taking deep breaths seemed like the last thing he'd do, and it was in that mechanism that Klaus could not escape from himself. When the thought to take a step back and  _ think _ came into his head, he denied it, already picturing himself coming into contact with ghouls as a result of trying to relax. Even thinking about putting a stop to his own panic just advanced the panic into a frenzy. In the chaos, Klaus gained an increased sense of being watched or hearing things, because he was even more scared than he had been. That 'awareness' only fed into more paranoia that justified the importance of being fearful.

So how did he stop? 

There was no one way. Sometimes, Klaus just found himself getting too tired to keep going, like a game he couldn't finish. Usually, he leaned into an addiction. Klaus had his reasons for taking things when he was in a state, he knew doing drugs satisfied his desire to escape the very real aspect of the hauntings. It was an avoidance measure, so heavily correlated to release that even having a little baggie in his hands brought him a slight feeling of peace. The fear that he carried with him during episodes only pushed him into using more than he knew he should; it was harder to be precise with dosage when his hands shook. Committing to memory how much he put into his body wasn't really on Klaus' mind, the anxiety made him feel reckless enough for anything, especially anything that promised a possibile out. 

But Klaus fooled himself. 

The thing the drugs gave him, the  _ only _ thing the drugs gave him, was more paranoia. Klaus had caught himself grappling with taking more, thinking with a panicked mind that upping the dosage would work. He'd mistaken himself for sober before, after the drugs made him hallucinate and see ghosts, which led to more usage. 

Somehow in the frenzy, when the panic grew worse, the walls wailing around him and brain caving in, he had enough of a mind for one very sobering thought. Klaus persuaded himself into thinking about the only true way out, the only way to ensure he never had an episode like the one he was going through. Like cutting off a limb too sick to be saved from a bear trap, he contemplated overdosing. It was the closest Klaus had ever come to truly evaluating the consequences of his drug habit. He wasn't stupid, he knew the drugs could kill him, and he knew people that had died that way. In moments of desperation, when his head pounded and his stomach writhed from too much booze and too much fright, he was compelled to reach for anything that might stop it. His true motivations laid somewhere between forgetfulness about his self-administered dosage and a genuine interest in stopping the exhausting stream of thoughts. 

Klaus had never gone through with it, but he'd come close, to the point of picking up his most available --or the easiest to overdose on drug-- and just barely letting it clatter to the floor. He usually scared himself by thinking about being eternally stuck with the ghouls that terrified him in life. Klaus wouldn't say it was self-preservation kicking in because he didn't know that he had any left; it could've just been his poisonously vivid imagination doing one favor and allowing him live another day, all while having nearly driven him to overdose. Staying alive wasn't an accomplishment. The thoughts he'd had about dying in that moment just created too much of a shock to make him act. It wasn't some grand unifying moment where he could remember everything he lived for, it was one streak of terror among many other unbearable concepts.

He hated being alone, especially during the aftershocks of panic. Even once Klaus could find some way to calm down, one thought out of place could easily threaten to push him right back down to where he'd been. It was near impossible to move forward when the panic felt inescapable, but he'd learned techniques to cope in the aftermath. Klaus struggled to recover at night, or as the sun set. Those times spawned shadows, and moments where he swore he saw something in the corner of his eye. 

Klaus could usually convince himself not to take any more drugs for the night, but he sought out the distraction substances usually gave. Trying to look presentable, he'd always use cold water to make his eyes less puffy. Although he wasn't sure if it worked, all water ran cold in October anyways. Perfection wasn't the aim, he just needed to be good enough, and recovering from a panic attack and looking 'good enough' wasn't easy. 

After wiping the snot from his face, maybe showering the sweat off of his body if he had a shower and change of clean(er) clothes, the hardest part was not bursting into tears again and ruining his progress. Klaus took himself to a bar or anywhere else his desires might be entertained, and would flirt around until he found someone he could spend the night with. It was easier to sleep in the comfort of someone else's bed, following an episode. On average nights, he didn't really mind fucking with the lights off, but Klaus begged for at least a lamp, following a panic attack. Sometimes he was lucky and it was allowed. He tried not to look around the room too much or he'd start seeing things, but it was sometimes easier to just be forced face down on the mattress or against someone's hips. Klaus made the choice to obey, knowing he wouldn't be happy whether he could see every inch of the space or not, even if he still felt a prickle on his shoulder when his back was turned to the room.

Before hooking up, Klaus plotted to try and make it as likely as possible that he'd get to stay the night, instead of being kicked out and having to start all over again, after already using himself up once. These habits weren't new, he'd picked them up when he'd first needed somewhere to stay after leaving the academy. Klaus was pretty sure he wouldn't ever forget the tactics he'd slowly discovered. Bars were the best to go to, since alcohol made people drowsy, and male-bodied people gave him the best prospects because testosterone orgasms tended to impart a tiredness estrogen orgasms did not. He'd gotten better with looking at someone and deciding whether or not they were safe to follow home, and found that if he picked out someone with lower self-esteem, it was more likely he could stay over. The timing was also very important.

When drifting off, Klaus got as close as he could to the other person without them pushing him away, and hoped they wouldn't find the contact weird. If sleep did come, it was usually fragmented. Sometimes he had bad dreams, or stayed up only to spiral back to where he'd been before, except he was in an unfamiliar space which made it worse. Being a whiny, fearful little bitch around other people was terrifying under any circumstances, but it was easier with strangers.

It was never just about October, he had panic attacks year round, but that month was a mechanism that brought those memories up reliably. Klaus could never exist peacefully in fall weather until that day had passed.


End file.
